


Heart Beneath the Star

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2002-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story of the Northern Dunedain Rangers during the War of the Ring. NO slash, graphic sex, or extreme gore. Ch 4 is up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dancing with Death

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

This story is primarily about the Rangers of the Northern Dúnedain.  Tolkien does not go into much detail about their lives and culture so please allow me to be a little creative in developing this area.  The time frame for this story begins shortly before Frodo leaves the Shire.

I menel darthant lim or le a i men taer athan le.

(May the sky stay clear above you and the road straight before you)

Ranger

 

\----------------------- 

Prologue:  Dancing with Death

Thalguron, Captain of the Northeast Dúnedain Ranger company, lay motionless under the brush on top of the hill to the north of a small passage.   The day had been long and only a couple of hours of daylight were left.  If their quarry did not show up soon, the ambush that lay behind him in the trees around the clearing would be for naught.  They had heard a report of the large wolf pack from some trappers and later it was confirmed by two elves scouting from Rivendell.  His men had picked them up three days ago and had been shadowing them from a distance.  The wolves had moved at a leisurely pace and had been on this path traveling south along the eastern edge of the Tower Hills for over a day.   He hoped that they would continue on to this point and had set the trap the night before.  It would be much easier to take them here than to try and catch them all in the open.  

They had to be stopped soon for if they crossed over the hills, they would not be far from the northern borders of Bree.  A pack this size would wreck havoc on the farms and outlying homes, and while they couldn’t get across the Brandywine into the Shire easily, it was still much too close for comfort.  Their Chieftain, without providing any specifics, had made it clear that the small, furry-footed hobbits must be protected at all costs.  He still had no idea why this pack was heading in this direction.  Wolves mostly tended to stay away from the more populated areas and while he was not sure exactly where they had come from, he had heard no word of a shortage among the game animals that they normally hunted.

The huge, gray, alpha male led the pack at an easy trot along the path through the broken meadows and rills.  His mate was close behind him and the rest were loosely bunched beyond her.   He had abruptly led them out of their home grounds far to the northeast over two weeks ago when a sudden urgency had filled his mind, driving him south and west away from familiar territory.  As they came around the base of a small knoll, the path turned west between two hills that formed a very short shallow canyon.  Beyond that was a small clearing and the path continued on up through trees and brush, eventually crossing over the range of hills that they had been skirting.  Just before reaching the mouth, he slowed and came to a stop while the rest of the pack bunched in close behind.  There was something about the clearing and shallow passage that generated a vague anxiety.  He lifted his head and slowly sniffed the wind, turning slightly from one side to the other.  He carefully eyed the trees and brush but could not detect anything amiss.  His mate came along side him with a small whine and he could tell that she was nervous as well.  He started to turn away from the trail but that urgency lurking at the edge of his senses forced him back around.  He looked one more time up the path and then led the pack between the low hills toward the clearing.

The Ranger captain tensed when the animals came into view and stopped.  He let out an inaudible sigh after they continued forward and as the last of the pack moved past his location into the clearing, Thalguron rose up from the ground signaling the attack.  A score of arrows sang from the trees and brush around the clearing and several men moved from their positions around him down to the path to prevent the pack from turning back.  The rest of the rangers moved quickly out of the trees, loosing another barrage of arrows and then drew their swords and long knives as the wolves began to seek escape routes back into the trees and brush.  The air was filled with snarls and howling yips as the arrows and blades found their marks.  The men continued the chilling battle cries that they had begun when the attack was signaled and an occasional shout of pain was heard as they began to close in with the wolves.  The clearing became a roiling mass of grays, blacks, greens and browns punctuated with flashes of steel and bared teeth as the battle raged toward its bloody conclusion.

The pack leader had almost reached the edge of the trees when the attack began.  As soon as he had heard the first twang of a bow, he had whirled and turned off of the path toward the nearest cover.  As he turned, he saw the rangers surrounding them as they moved out of their hiding places and skidded to a stop.    Realizing his vulnerability out in the open clearing, he turned again and bounded toward the tree line at the edge of the clearing.  In front of him, a tall dark man was drawing his sword and moving to cut off his escape.  The wolf leaped at his attacker and just as he reached his target, the man slipped down beneath him.  Instead of fastening his jaws on the man’s neck, his sharp teeth ripped across the upper arm and shoulder.  Flashing past the fallen ranger, he sprang again for the trees.  As he crouched for the last jump to safety, he was struck by two arrows and his legs faltered and collapsed, sending him sliding to a halt on his belly.  The presence in his mind pressed him to get up and move on but muscle and sinew would no longer respond to his will.  The sounds of the battle began to diminish behind him as the rest of the pack was destroyed and he took a final shallow breath and was still.

*****

Thalguron walked quickly among the corpses of the wolves scattered around the rock strewn clearing, checking to make sure that none were still alive.  He had already checked the members in his company for casualties and they had come through the skirmish fairly unscathed.  There was only one major injury and the usual scrapes and cuts that accompany any close quarters combat.  The gash across Fargand’s shoulder would take a while to heal, but he would be able to travel by the next morning.  Everyone would get a few hours of rest before they finished the patrol although he would have to send Fargand with an escort back to the camp at the northern end of the Weather Hills.

The frequency of skirmishes that they fought was increasing at an alarming rate lately.  In fact, as he moved among the wolf carcasses, he was disturbed at the number that had been in this pack.  In all of his years as a Ranger, the size of the packs had usually been ten to fifteen individual animals, but this pack numbered almost thirty.  Bending over to retrieve an arrow from the throat of one of the beasts, he noticed that the general size of the animals seemed larger than usual as well.  If a small unit had been caught out alone against this pack, the outcome probably would have been far different.  The odds of facing thirty wolves with only five Rangers, even as good as his men were, didn’t bode well.  They had had all he wanted to handle with a full company of twenty-five as it was.

From the reports he had been getting from the North Dúnedain Rangers based near Lake Evendim, they were experiencing the same phenomena in their region.  Lefrin, the captain of the South East company in the South Downs district, and Halbarad, the captain of the South company at Sarn Ford, had been noting increases in activity in their patrol areas as well.  He had not had any recent news from the Angle, the home area of their families, and he hoped that all was quiet there.  Lately, good news was rare and he frowned as he realized that he didn’t expect to hear anything but dark tidings in the near future.  The increase in sightings of orcs, trolls, wolves, and even a few wargs, was unsettling.  Something was causing the evil creatures in Eriador to stir further afield and in greater numbers.

He headed back to the edge of the tree line where most of the company was gathered around three small cooking fires.  Even though they had just completed a battle, guards were already posted to make sure nothing else came upon them unannounced.  You didn’t live long in this country if you weren’t careful _all_ of the time.  With quiet pride, he scanned the faces of the men who wore the white star of the Dúnedain Rangers on their breast as they stood or sat throughout the camp.  They were all good, solid men and, though some were young yet, they were all well trained, seasoned fighters.  Woodcraft, tracking, and weapons training began early in the life of a child born to the Northern Dúnedain, boys and girls alike.  The older Rangers who could no longer sustain the hard miles and long hours spent on patrols trained them.  Most had even had training from the elves in Rivendell.  

Though women did not participate in the patrols and combat skirmishes, they provided the bulk of the defenses for their homes.  The Dúnedain were fewer in number than ever before and since Aragorn, their Chieftain, had doubled the number of men patrolling the borders of the Shire, the only men remaining with the families were too old or badly maimed to go out.  This had caused anxiety among the men, who had to leave families without their protection, but the women were a tough lot and were capable of handling most situations that arose and Rivendell was not far away.  Thalguron prayed a silent prayer to Eru that it would continue to be enough.

A sudden squawk and grunt of pain caused him to turn his attention to the fire where the healers were tending to Fargand.  “Do you not think I am already injured enough?” he growled at the man who was tending the deep wound high on his right arm and shoulder.  “I would like to again be able to draw blade or nock an arrow.”

“Quit whining and be still or you’ll only make it worse.  You’d think you’d never had a scratch before, the way you’re carrying on”, the healer retorted.  Fargand mumbled something under his breath but calmed himself as the healer went back to his ministrations.

“If your footwork were more clever or you were as nimble as most, you would be over here enjoying your supper rather than serving as an embroidery piece”, called one of the men seated near another fire.

Fargand turned his dark eyes toward the speaker and raised a bushy eyebrow.  “Next time I’ll be sure to let YOU try and dance among the rocks while you face the biggest wolf in Eriador.”  Looking back at the healer he muttered, “Did that wound come from wolf fangs or by chance was that oaf bumbling around behind me as I fought the beast?”

The healers shared an amused glance and the first one grinned down at him.  “Unless Delrion has grown much larger teeth since last I checked, be assured it was a wolf.  Henceforth if that is going to be your normal fighting style, I had better acquire a great deal more thread e’er I am in Bree next.”

As Fargand made ready to reply again, Thalguron cut him off.  “Surely you can find a better time to try new steps for the ladies, Fargand.  Unless, of course, you had it in your mind to take the wolf for a turn around the clearing before you parted ways.  If you would prefer dancing to fighting, I am sure you would be welcome back in the homesteads.  Were I you, I would probably try to separate the two more clearly.  Both can be dangerous if you have not your wits about you.”

The men roared heartily at the Captain’s jibes.  Fargand was known to fancy himself with the ladies and was actually very light on his feet for such a large man.  Fargand remained quiet as the healers finished their sewing and bandaging and Thalguron moved to the fires and helped his plate for supper.  The men continued to talk quietly among themselves and as the evening wore on, the watches were set and everyone began to settle down for the night.  Excitement waned and exhaustion came as it always did to those who face death victoriously.  Slowly, the noises of the camp diminished until the only sounds were the snores of the men and the crackling of the fires.

*****

A/N:  This is my first public offering of any kind of fan fiction.  I hope that you enjoyed it.  Whether you did or didn’t please review and let me know what you think.  What doesn’t kill us always makes us stronger.  Special thanks to TreeHugger and shirebound for their assistance and encouragement.  Thanks to oracle2001 for also prompting me to get started.  Please feel free to email me if you wish.  I will respond someday.


	2. Wizards, Wraiths, and Weathertop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story of the Northern Dunedain Rangers during the War of the Ring. NO slash, graphic sex, or extreme gore. Ch 4 is up.

I have always wondered exactly what happened on Weathertop between Gandalf and the Ring Wraiths.  This chapter contains a little of what I think it was like.  I hope you enjoy it.

Ranger

\-------------------------

Fargand rode under the clear blue skies and bright afternoon sunlight in the crisp October air.  He was headed south on the faint Ranger trail skirting the eastern edge of the Tower Hills and was hoping to camp on Weathertop that evening.  Thalguron had sent him out early the prior morning to deliver dispatches to the captains of the southern ranger companies and receive whatever tidings they would pass back north.  Afterwards, he would swing further east to the Angle passing messages to families and friends from the other Rangers of the Northeastern company before returning back to the camp in the Tower Hills.  “Back to being a messenger boy”, he snorted.  “Thought I was through with this odious duty long ago.”  

Like all young men of the Northern Dúnedain, he had joined the Ranger corps upon reaching his twentieth year.  He had served as a messenger for the first few years after becoming a Ranger as did most before receiving permanent postings.  As they gained more experience and other youngsters came in to take their places, they became more stationary in the patrol areas of their assigned units.  He had not ridden on messenger duty in over two years.  Since he was now twenty-six years old, he had six years of service in the field behind him.  Not long compared to most of the men serving with him, but in his mind he was a hardened veteran much too valuable to be running errands.  However since his injury battling a large pack of wolves two weeks ago not far from where he was now riding, he had not been able to draw a bow or wield a sword efficiently enough to return to full duty.  But the weather was nice; the bay mare he rode had an easy, comfortable gait; and he would in a few days time be back among friends and loved ones long unseen.  His thoughts drifted among the faces in his memory of all the pretty maids waiting breathlessly for his return, inevitably settling on the image of a certain auburn haired lass who just happened to be the daughter of his captain.  

As he rode along, his mind wandered back to the Mid-Summer festival where he had become more closely acquainted with Tithmeriele than her stern Ranger father would have countenanced.  Fargand had known of her since she was a baby.  He had not seen her for a long time as she had been gone from the Angle for several years, studying healing arts under the tutelage of the Elves in Rivendell, and he had begun his career as a Ranger during her absence.  She was no longer the shy younger sibling of his friend, Belguron, but had bloomed into a gentle, wondrous creature whose beauty rivaled that of the flower from whence her name was given.  Tith had still not reached her majority and nothing serious had occurred or was planned as of yet, but her father was still very protective as any father would be of such a beautiful and desirable young woman.  

So far, Thalguron did not seem to have any inkling of the budding attraction between his hard headed, light hearted trooper and his beloved little girl and Fargand hoped it would remain so as long as possible.  He had been under the baleful glare of his commander for many reasons over the last two years but never for anything that would raise the older Ranger’s ire to the levels that this was likely to inspire.  The thought of facing Barmariele, Tith’s fiery haired mother, evoked an even greater sense of foreboding and doom as his reputation as a fancy free skirt chaser crossed his troubled mind.  With a shake of his head, he shifted his thoughts back to the picture of loveliness he held warmly in his thoughts and pushed the nagging worries of parental homicide away into the bright sunshine.

His thoughts came back into focus as he spotted the looming bulk of Weathertop coming into view over the shoulder of the hill to his southwest.  Something about the familiar landmark caught his attention away from the daydreams of romance but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.  As he rode he searched the vista before him carefully for some sign of the source of uneasiness that began to grow at the edge of his senses.  After a few more minutes, he began to realize what was unsettling him and causing his nerves to tingle.  Even though the sun had passed its zenith, there were several hours of daylight left.  But the top of the hill seemed to be shrouded in twilight and the lower portions of the hill that were in view appeared to be dimmed as if the colors had been washed out like a shirt after too many launderings.  He was still a few miles distant from the object of his concern but with each stride of his mount he felt a strong sense of dread and evil envelope his heart and mind.  When he had finally rounded the base of the last hill separating him from Weathertop, he reined the mare to a halt.  Staring intently at the crest of the hill now only a little more than a mile distant, he thought he could see dark shapes moving around in the shadows that shielded the top from his view.  From this distance and with the murky darkness impeding his vision, he could not make out what the shapes were.

Suddenly, a flash of light off to his right turned his attention further south and west to the road beyond.  As he watched, a horse and rider came into focus in the distance coming from the west.  As it drew closer, he could make out more details of the mount and its burden.  Even at this distance he could tell the horse was larger than any he had ever seen.  Its coat was brilliant silver that seemed to shine of its own accord without help from the sun.  The rider atop its back was thin and wiry and dressed in some kind of a gray cloak and sported a bent, pointy hat on top of its head.  He could make out some kind of staff or spear in the riders hand but it was still too far away to be certain which.  The horse looked to be traveling at almost a dead run and was quickly eating up the ground between them.  Another movement turned his attention back to the top of the hill that had originally held his gaze.  The twilight seemed to be fading back toward a normal level of light and he was able to make out nine black horses and dark cloaked riders.  As the shining horse flew steadily closer, the ebony figures bunched along the trail leading down the north face of the hill and began to descend rapidly.  It dawned on him that they were now moving swiftly in his direction.  

Although he still had no idea exactly who these fell riders were, he quickly decided that he did not want to gain their attention.  He turned the horse aside into the trees and brush beside the trail and continued to watch.  The dark riders continued their descent and as they reached the bottom of the slope turned and rode at a gallop toward the east.  A dark cloud of gloom continued to overshadow them and draw the light from the area around them as they rode.  He remained motionless among the trees and as they passed but a few hundred yards from his vantage point, his horse began to shiver and shudder under him.  He spoke to her quietly trying to soothe her nerves and keep her from sounding a call or bolting out into the open.  He looked up and got the clearest sighting of the horsemen he had seen and quickly wished he had remained ignorant of their visage.  The horses were huge, ugly beasts that seen this close looked less like horses and more like some kind of demons.  Their eyes were an angry red and almost glowed under the pall of the shadow in which they rode.  Their riders were even more hideous to behold even though he could not make out any of their features.  In fact, they did not seem to _have_ any features beneath the dark hoods of the capes.  Fear and darkness seemed to radiate from them just as light radiates from the sun.  He began to quake along with his horse while a wave of despair washed over and through him and he lost any ability to form logical thought as terror wrapped itself around him like a heavy winter cloak.

The young Ranger heard the hoof beats of the silver horse growing louder as the sounds of doom faded away to the east but he did not move from the hidden spot just off the side of the path.  It was not only that he didn’t want to move and possibly be seen by the new rider, he couldn’t!  Both he and the bay were still caught in the grips of terror and it was several minutes before his shaking subsided enough for him to be able to regain control of his frayed senses.  Fargand could see the scraggly, gray cloaked figure astride the magnificent stallion fairly well now.  The stranger was as fearsome in his own way as the black riders had been.  His wind blown hair flowed from beneath the battered hat and it was only a little less silver than the horse he was riding.  His gray beard was long and thick, hanging down upon his chest.  The weathered face was lined and wrinkled but still contained an air of powerful strength and grim resolve.  The animal drew to an abrupt halt at the base of the hill and the old man stared hard toward the east, glowering from under shaggy brows in the direction of the fleeing company of evil.  Fargand finally was able to coax the mare back onto the path and he began to ride toward the base of Weathertop where the stranger still sat.  As the horse moved out from the cover, the grizzled old man whirled the horse to face him, swiftly drawing a long, white sword from his belt beneath the tattered cloak.  Upon seeing the Ranger, he held him fast in his gaze for a moment and then visibly relaxed and re-sheathed his sword.

“I do not recall your face, young Ranger, but the star on your breast is known and I have ridden many a mile in the welcome company of those who wore one like it.  As much as I desire to stop and get acquainted, I must insist that you depart and put as much distance as you can between us ere darkness falls.  It will not be safe near me nor the area around Amon Sûl much longer this day.  Ride while you can, and if you know of safe harbor nearby, seek it out quickly.”  The words were spoken with urgency but not ungently.  The aged rider could see the fear that remained in the brown eyes of the younger man and could sense how deeply shaken he had been.  “If you know where Aragorn, son of Arathorn, can be found or if you come upon him, pass on the word that the Ring Wraiths are nearby and the treasure in his keeping is danger of being taken.  Offer him any aid in his task he may require, for his quest is of more importance than even he may be aware. Tell him that Mithrandir has been searching for him and if we do not meet beforehand, I will see him in the house of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.  Now ride quickly and do not return here no matter what you may see or hear until daylight shines again on Weathertop.  Keep your wits about you and avoid confronting the Black Riders at any cost.  A full complement of Rangers was not able stand against all nine even led by so venerable a warrior as Halbarad, and a single Wraith may be more than can be stopped by mortal strength and weapons.  Now fly before the darkness falls and the evil gathers strength enough to return.”

Speaking quickly and with a small tremor still in his voice, Fargand responded to the legendary wizard that he knew from stories in his youth.  “I am Fargand, of the Northeast Dúnedain Rangers.  I will do my best to find the Chieftain and deliver your warning and will assist him however I can.  Will you stay to face the darkness alone?   What better chance would you have than a full Ranger company?  Won’t you fly with me to seek shelter and aide?  There should be a patrol not far from here that we can enlist to locate and warn Aragorn of the perils riding through the country.  Surely a half dozen well armed Rangers can offer some protection.  Come, let’s ride together and heed your advice to get far away quickly.”

“Nay! I have a task laid before me that I must attempt no matter what the cost.  Though I may not be victorious, it should buy precious time for those who need it most.  Now flee and do not turn aside until you have reached the safety of your comrades.”  With that, Mithrandir turned the stallion up the grade toward the peak of Weathertop and the broken crown of Amon Sûl..  

Fargand whirled his mount and sped off without even a thought that he had again been relegated to the role of messenger instead of warrior.  He rode hard back to the Northeast and prayed with all his might that he would catch the Fourth Patrol group at their camp.  They should have been at Weathertop themselves the day that he had begun his journey and would have been moving back east and north on their assigned route today.  He knew about where they should be and if he could find his way in the growing darkness without too much difficulty, he might be able to bring them back to help the ancient wizard sometime before dawn.  He pushed away the thoughts of what the outcome most certainly must be for the old man if he faced the Black Riders alone and concentrated on guiding the mare through the rough countryside toward help and safety.

***~**~*~**~***

Mithrandir slid off of Shadowfax as they entered the small dell on the western side of Weathertop.  He did not take the time to remove the saddle and bridle but reached inside his saddle bags and took out some food.  He ate quickly as he stood there beside the steed who had borne him farther and faster than he had hoped or even thought possible.  The men of Rohan were justified in their admiration of the great stallion.  No doubt there was great consternation among the Rohirrim at his choice of a mount.  Mithrandir did not intend to keep him forever, but still had need of him before he could be released and sent back to his home range.  After he had finished the last few small bites of cheese, dried fruit and hard bread that he had gotten from Butterbur in Bree, he led Shadowfax down toward the small stream nearby.  After the horse had drunk his fill, the Istari wizard spoke quietly to him in a language that the horse seemed to understand fully but few in Middle Earth would have been able to discern.  The horse stood quietly in the lee of the bank as Mithrandir moved back up and began to ascend to the summit.  He walked through a gap in the fallen rock and rotted timbers and prepared to wait for the return of the Nazgul.  He could feel the growing blasphemy of their presence as they returned and he began to draw power from deep inside as his gnarled hand gripped the twisted staff.  The tip of the staff began to glow and a bright light began to emanate from his icy blue eyes.  He might not be able to defeat the awful henchmen of Sauron, but they would get a taste of the righteous wrath of a Maia and would not find it pleasant.  

It was not long before he saw the first of them step from the shadows into the remnants of the watchtower and the battle began in earnest.  He raised the staff muttering a word in the same language he had used with Shadowfax.  Lightning flashed from the head of his staff, arcing across the clearing and driving the defiled creature back out of the circle around them.  Another lunged towards him from the ruins to his right with a third just behind him.  They had drawn their swords and rushed towards him shrieking in unholy voices and cursing him in the foul tongue of Mordor.  Another flash exploded from his staff and struck the foremost wraith, knocking him back into his companion.  As they staggered and fought to regain their momentum back towards him, he felt a blast of darkness strike him from behind.  Though it did not cause any extensive physical damage, the pain was intense and forced him to his knees.  The Nazgul sensed his weakness and rushed towards him again seeking to kill or maim with their wretched blades.  Mithrandir struggled to regain his strength but knew he could not reach his feet before his attackers would be on him.  He spoke a Word of Power and the two spawns of darkness before him burst into flame and were blown into the air and off of the mountain top.  

Now the remaining six, including the vile Witch King, their leader, were all arrayed in a semicircle before him.  They were all shrieking and moaning unearthly cries and the Witch King stepped forward and uttered a stream of invective in the Black Speech.  A bolt of evil power, as glaring in its darkness as the brightness of the lightning bolts issuing from the wizard’s staff, leaped from the Witch Kings hand into the chest of the weakened Istari.  Mithrandir flew back into the pile of rubble behind him and lay stunned as the Dark Riders advanced once again.  As they closed almost with in reach of their weapons, the gnarled staff emitted another massive bolt of lightning.  The energy forked out and engulfed all six of the wraiths, driving them back and giving him time to get back to his feet.  He was breathing hard and leaning on the staff for support as he drew himself up to face them again.  As he scanned the area around him, he could only locate two of the riders.  The Witch King and one other moved back towards him, seeming to float across the distance like specters moving through a barrow.  He dove back around behind the pile of rubble, narrowly dodging a second bolt of darkness from the hand of the Witch King.  Back and forth the bolts of lightning and shadow flew while the combatants warily avoided any open confrontations as each sought to incapacitate and destroy their opponent.  Mithrandir caught the next to last wraith with another massive bolt, forcing him out of the battle, shrieking and cursing as he faded away into the darkness.  

Now, only the Witch King opposed him.  He had no delusions that he had managed to destroy any of Sauron’s minions, but he held hope that he had weakened them enough to give Aragorn and the Hobbits a chance to survive until they came to Rivendell or additional aide could reach them.  Magical energy, light and dark, continued to fly back and forth between the two powerful beings.  Both were noticeably weaker but the Witch King seemed to be able to draw on a reserve force of power that Gandalf did not have.  The wizard began to feel the strain of the extended conflict and was finally beginning to fear he was coming to the end of his strength.  The Witch King made another massive attack forward and Mithrandir managed to drive him back yet again.  However, he knew that his time was done.  He could not repulse the Witch King’s power any longer.  

As he struggled to gather any of his remaining power, he saw a glow on the horizon.   Hope sprang back into his breast as he realized that dawn was quickly approaching.  The Black Riders could and did ride out in the daylight, but their powers seemed to be diminished by bright sunlight.  He began to slowly maneuver himself back toward the western edge of the ruins.  He hoped that the leader of the wraiths would not realize his intention until it would be too late to stop him.  As he reached the point he was seeking, he focused all of his remaining power into one last blast of lightning and fired it at the Nazgul.  When the wraith moved to dodge the burst of energy, Mithrandir threw himself beyond the rim of the broken tower.  He tumbled down the hill but finally managed to control his rolling and regain his feet.  He ran down the hillside, calling to Shadowfax as he went.  He heard an answering whinny and the stallion burst over the edge of the bank of the stream where had been waiting, and came running towards him.  

As he reached the horse, he used almost all of the physical strength left in his slender body and leaped into the saddle.  He turned the horse down the path off of the mountain to the north.  It was all he could do to hang on but he knew he had a chance now if he could distance himself from the Witch King and any remaining Ring Wraiths before the sun rose over the horizon.  Shadowfax sensed his urgency and flew as if he had wings down the incline and away from the peak.  When he reached the bottom, he instinctively turned east and raced away with the wind whipping around him.  Behind them, Mithrandir heard a hideous shriek and to his dismay, but not his surprise, he heard screeches and moans answer their master’s call.  He lowered himself onto Shadowfax’s neck and hung on with the last bit of strength that he had.

***~**~*~**~***

A/N:  

Special thanks, again to TreeHugger and shirebound for their help in proofing this chapter.  I really don’t know how anybody can do this without faithful friends.

Until next time,

I menel darthant lim or le a i men taer athan le.

(May the sky stay clear above you and the road straight before you)


	3. A Dawning in the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story of the Northern Dunedain Rangers during the War of the Ring. NO slash, graphic sex, or extreme gore. Ch 4 is up.

This chapter is a little slow on action because I had to tie my storyline back into the Fellowship of the Ring. Consider it housekeeping or foundation building. I promise to get back to the action next chapter.

Ranger

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Fargand felt completely drained of physical and emotional energy long before he found any sign of the patrol he was seeking so desperately. The mare was beginning to falter beneath him as well. He had briefly stopped to allow them both some rest but he knew they were both reaching the limits of their endurance. He had seen the flashes of light that lit up the sky behind him but he continued to push forward, trying not to imagine the horrible confrontation raging and the almost certain fate of the wizard he had left. He thundered along more by instinct than sight towards the site where he believed the Rangers to be camped. He was upon it before he realized it and would have passed the turn if it were not for the shout of the Ranger standing watch at the camp. As he turned the mare into a small copse of woods to his left, he saw the glow of embers and reined the horse in. 

Falling more than stepping down, he dismounted in the space before the fire. His legs collapsed under him but strong arms caught him before he fell face first into the remains of the campfire. He began trying to relay the wizard’s message and tell the startled Rangers of Mithrandir’s plight and the danger that Aragorn was facing, but the words came out rushed and jumbled in his haste and anxiety. The urgency and fear of young Fargand was much clearer to them than his words. They were only able to understand a few words but they were able to catch the name of Aragorn and something about danger and Weathertop. They had seen the flashes of light in the sky back to their southwest during the night but had no idea exactly where they originated or what was causing them. Coruraun, the lieutenant in charge of the Fourth Northeast Patrol, issued quick terse instructions and the group of five grim Rangers prepared to move out. They could not afford to hesitate if Aragorn needed their help and were quickly ready to begin their ride back to the mountain they had left the day before. 

One of the Rangers took the mare to a small meadow nearby and tethered her near grass and water. Another had taken Fargand and led him over to a bedroll and finally managed to calm him down enough to stop the babbling and get him seated. Coruraun gave him a cup of soothing herbal tea. 

“Just take it easy. Drink some of this. It will help calm your nerves. We need to know exactly what happened and when.” Fargand took a sip of the warm tea and drew a deep breath.

“I met Mithrandir today at Weathertop and he..” Coruraun cut him off.

“The wizard? I thought he was just a legend. You mean to say you actually met him?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. I spoke to him and he sent me here. He was worried that the Dark wraiths would come back before I left and wanted me to take a message to Aragorn.” Fargand took another drink and continued. “I left him alone there to face those monsters but he was so insistent that I leave. I could not persuade him to leave with me and I could not stand against the force of his determination. We have got to go back quickly and help him! I saw those riders and their beasts. They made my heart stop and my very bones melt. I cannot imagine anyone being able to stand before them much less defeat them in battle.” When Coruraun heard the words ‘dark wraiths’, his heart went cold and the faces of the men around him tightened with anxiety. These were things that they were not prepared to deal with directly but they could not forsake their kinsman if he were in need.

“We will go soon. You must remain here. We do not have any spare mounts, and your mare can carry you no further tonight. You are exhausted as well and need rest.” Fargand began to protest and tried to rise from the bedding where he had collapsed but the lieutenant pushed him back gently. “There is no way for you to travel with us. Relax and trust us to find the wizard and bring him out safely if it is possible. You mentioned Aragorn. Is he in trouble? Do you know where he might be?” Fargand slowly shook his head.

“No. I have not seen him. I think that Mithrandir believes that he has come this way and that is why he had come to Weathertop. I am not sure he expected to face those Black Riders there. But he would not come away with me! How could I have abandoned him?!” The young man was close to sobbing. 

Coruraun coaxed him to finish his tea. As he drank, the herbs began to move through his system and allow him to relax. They gathered together some food and a water skin and left them beside the bedroll where Fargand was sitting. They did not want to leave him, but they could not delay any longer. He would just have to fend for himself and depend on his training to sustain him until they could return or he could go on under his own power. They mounted and the Ranger lieutenant led them back down the trail, riding as quickly as they felt was safe. It would take them more than four hours of hard riding to get back to the ruined fortress and they all were silently praying that the wizard could hold out until they got there. 

Daylight had already come before they reached the trail leading up the slope to the summit. Cautiously, with the experience and skill of fighting men, they moved up the hill, bows at the ready, looking for any signs of danger or their beloved leader. As the others searched around the campsite in the dell and the stream below, Coruraun went on to the ruins at the summit. He stopped in astonishment as he viewed the scorched and scarred earth, trees, and rocks before him. He did not know what had happened here during the night but he was glad he hadn’t been there at the time. He searched around the rubble and stones but did find any sign of of Mithrandir or Aragorn or any clear indication of exactly who had been involved in the maelstrom of fire that had blackened the earth across the top of the hill.

When he went back down and gathered the rest of the men together, none of them had been able to find anything either, and the last set of runes on the Ranger stones (see A/N below) were the ones his patrol had left as they departed the previous morning. The only thing that they could identify were the tracks of a several large horses, most of which seemed to roughly shod with a peculiar type of shoe, and several sets of boot prints in the soft earth in places around the hill. They mounted up and began to move back down from the summit. As they turned and headed back towards the camp where they had left the exhausted Fargand, one of the Rangers called out and dismounted. He walked over to a clump of brush and picked up an old, rumpled, pointed gray hat. They were certain it did not belong to Aragorn but no one had ever seen anyone wearing a hat like that. From deep in his memory, Coruraun recalled something about an ancient gray wizard that wore a pointy hat. More puzzled than before they set out back to the camp where they had left Fargand.

After the others had ridden away, Fargand lay on the blankets completely worn out but he was still too keyed up and anxious to sleep. The events of the day kept running through his mind and he was filled with remorse that he had fled and left Mithrandir to face the Black Riders alone even though he had no idea how he might have helped him. Eventually weariness overtook him but he fell into a tossing, fitful sleep that would not render much rest. As he tossed and turned he kept dreaming of a gray, grizzled old man glowing with an inner light that was slowly being engulfed in shadow until the light was extinguished and darkness completely devoured him.

***~**~*~**~***

A/N:

Ranger  
stones (or markers) were used to pass on information to other Rangers that  
may pass through an area.   
Gandalf’s message in The Fellowship of the Ring is one well known  
an example of these. There were  
several sites known to the Rangers throughout eastern Eriador where these  
messages were regularly left. They  
were usually scratched into a softer type of stone or a large fallen  
tree. The messages were by  
necessity short and always consisting of three parts: identification of the writer, the date  
written, and pertinent information.   
The runes were shorthand known only to the Rangers and a few  
trusted allies that had been developed hundreds of years before when the  
Northern Dúnedain became a semi-nomadic people. The information normally provided would indicate if there  
were any known hazards in the area and/or the patrol/individual’s status  
and rarely would be intended for specific individuals. The overlapping areas between Ranger  
company patrol areas always had a message site. Weathertop was at the southern border of the Northeast  
company’s sector and the northern border of the Southeast’s patrolling  
area and therefore had one.

Until next time,

I menel darthant lim or le a i men taer athan le.

(May the sky stay clear above you and the road straight before you)

Ranger


	4. The Race to Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story of the Northern Dunedain Rangers during the War of the Ring. NO slash, graphic sex, or extreme gore. Ch 4 is up.

Some conversations that are spoken in Sindarin but translated into English in the text are italicized.  Actual Sindarin words are translated below the body of the story.

 

The next morning the Rangers set out south once again for Weathertop.   They had spent the rest of the previous day recalling personnel from the field and preparing supplies and equipment.  Thalguron hated to lose the time because Aragorn’s trail was growing colder but it would do no one any good to go afield unprepared.  At last the twelve Rangers had set out, riding as quickly as they could safely manage, each hoping in his heart that they could find their Chieftain before the Black Riders did.  

As they rode, Thalguron thought back to the report Fargand had given of his experience at Weathertop.  He had remembered a story told long ago as he sat at Elrond’s knee during a visit to Rivendell as a boy.  It had been about the Dark Lord, Sauron, and the Nine Kings who had been seduced into his service.  Sauron had given them Rings of Power with promises of wealth and fame but their hidden reward was to lose their places in the land of the living and serve him in a nether world of darkness.  Though able to manifest themselves in a physical form, they had become shadow creatures and dwelt in a different plane of existence.  From the descriptions Fargand had given, he was sure it was these malevolent warriors that were loose again in Middle Earth.

Thalguron moved his horse closer to his chief lieutenant.  “Tardorn, what do you know of the Ring Wraiths?  I am certain it is they that Fargand saw and that Mithrandir fought.  I am not sure how we can defeat them on our own if we must face them.  I know how to stand against anything made of flesh and bone, but how do you fight a shadow?  Can you kill it with bolt or blade?  Can it be hurt with mortal strength?  I have only heard of them in dreadful tales told by Elrond when I was young.  The only thing I am certain of concerning them is that they can cause nightmares in the dreams of children.”

“Not only the children, my Captain!  I have been having dark dreams since Fargand told his story,” Tardorn exclaimed with a haunted look.  “It seemed that his fear flowed out as a tangible force as he told of the frightening spectacle he beheld.  I, for one, hope we do not even find again their tracks, much less come face to face.  I have not known anyone who has faced them, and there is no account that has been told to me of their being defeated by mortal hands.  It has been said that their leader, the ancient Witch-King of Angmar, will not fall at the hands of any man.  I am not sure if that applies to the rest as well.  From what we have heard, Halbarad and his men had no success in facing them.  But do not lose heart, we will find some way to overcome them if we must.”

They continued on in silence as they rode through the sun-drenched countryside, the hills rising to their right and the rolling, broken countryside flowing away to the horizon on their left.  After an uneventful night, they continued on the next day until they reached the southern end of the Tower Hills.  They set up camp on the western slope of Weathertop and gathered around the fire discussing the plans for the coming search.  Thalguron would take the Fifth Patrol south of the road and then turn east as they searched for signs of the Aragorn and the Hobbits.  Tardorn would take the remaining Rangers and search north of the road, traveling east as well.  If they did not locate the wayward Ranger and his companions, they would meet up at the Last Bridge over the Hoarwell.  The watches were set and the Rangers settled into their blankets, falling asleep with the speed of men used to taking rest whenever and wherever the opportunity arose.  

The next morning, they were moving at first light.  They had pastured the horses in a small hanging valley back in the hills north of Weathertop the night before.  They would be conducting the search on foot since it was a more effective means of travel when tracking.  The Rangers could travel long distances using an easy, ground-eating gait that was efficient and effective.  Without horses they did not have to worry as much about selecting routes through rough terrain nor were they hindered with having to care for their mounts as they went.  This also gave them more freedom and flexibility should they encounter any hostile creatures out in the wilderness.  The less distractions when facing an enemy who was intent on killing and possibly having you for supper, the better off you were.   The patrols spread out into formations designed to cover large areas during a search or tracking mission but kept the men in contact with each other.  Alert and eager, they began to move out on their appointed routes.

On the sixth day after they had split up, the two groups of Rangers were reunited at the bridge of the Hoarwell.  Tardorn’s group had reached the crossing the day before.  They had found no traces of the lost wanderers and the terrain that they had covered was easier traveling than Thalguron had encountered to the south.  Thalguron led his tired patrol into the camp set up in the edge of the hills north of the road on the east bank of the river.  

Thalguron was in fair spirits despite their lack of success since he had seen the Elf two days before.  They had stopped short of the road in a small hidden vale and set up camp that night.  The second watch had heard at least two horses pounding down the road to the east but they could not see who or what it was.  The riders had continued on to the east and did not return.  The next morning as they reached the road, one of the Rangers discovered the tracks from the horses passing by in the night.  They were the same as they had seen at Weathertop after the confrontation between Mithrandir and the Ring Wraiths.  

They were extremely cautious as they continued east on the road.  Thalguron wanted to stay on the road as much as possible to make up time that he was sure had been lost as they searched through the wilds.  He had found older tracks on the road that belonged to the horse that the Elf-lord had been riding.  He immediately recognized the tracks of Asfaloth as he had seen them on many a trail through the years.  He knew the identity of the Elf-lord:  the great warrior Glorfindel.

Glorfindel was a well-known and welcome ally to the Rangers, though it had been quite a while since he had hunted with them.  No single person could best him in battle and few could equal him.  Only in the twin princes Elladan and Elrohir as they fought in tandem, had Thalguron ever seen anything approaching the fighting skill and cold ferocity that Glorfindel exhibited in battle.  The Ranger Captain had heard stories of Lord Elrond’s battle prowess but that renowned Elf had not donned battle armor since returning home at the end of the Last Alliance.

As the travel weary Rangers came into the camp, they were greeted by their comrades.  “Captain, well come!  The food is warm and the wine refreshing.  Delpen, take the Captain’s pack,” Tardorn’s voice called out to them.

“Tardorn, your greeting sounds almost as good as a ‘welcome home’ from Meri right now, although the sight of you bending over the fire is not nearly as appealing.  The food and wine will be most appreciated.  I gather that you fared no better than we in your search.  Did you see any signs of their passing?”

As Tardorn handed Thalguron a steaming plate of food he replied, “Nay.  We found some tracks of the dark horses and the tracks of Glorfindel’s magnificent Asfaloth but no others.  I fear the rain washed away any tracks that we might have uncovered.”

“Aye, we saw the Elf-lord at a distance traveling east upon the road.  At least we know that we are not alone in this quest.  With the Elves searching as well, they will be found and brought safely to their destination.  We were able to find two campsites but no discernible tracks.”  Gratefully taking the food, he sat down on a stone to eat.  Tardorn took a seat nearby and watched him eat in silence.  After Thalguron had finished his meal, he sat back with a satisfied sigh.  Tardorn spoke up again.

“What think you that we should do next?  They should have passed this point long ago unless they were taken or turned aside.”

“I agree with your conclusions.  However, I am afraid to leave any holes unplugged.  I am considering pushing on toward Rivendell and leaving a force here to watch the bridge.  Aragorn may have pushed deeper into the wilds than we think and may be delayed in getting here.  I would hate for us to pass him by when we are so close.  Blast the rain!  It left us with no clues to even be able to tell when they had set the camps that we found.  We have accomplished nothing so far and it is frustrating.”

Tardorn looked at him with some sympathy showing in his eyes.  He knew that Thalguron took his duties very seriously and was prone to berate himself overmuch if he did not accomplish whatever chore he set forth to achieve.  He drove his men hard but he was a much tougher taskmaster to himself.  “Settle yourself for the night.  I will post the watches from our group since we have had a days rest here.  We will consider the problem again in the morning with clearer minds and see what we can determine.”

Thalguron nodded wearily and sought a place within the little dell to roll into his blankets.  He and his men were thankful for the respite of having the others hold the watches and quickly fell asleep.

“AWAKE!  AWAKE!  The dark riders have returned!”

Thalguron was instantly alert and rolled out of his blankets in one quick move, taking up his sword and bow and drawing his long knife by instinct instilled through long experience.  The others moved around him just as quickly and formed a perimeter on the south side of the camp towards the road and the call of alarm from the guard.  As Thalguron moved to a vantage point overlooking the road, he realized that the voice had been that of Fargand.  Thalguron hoped that the Ranger would hold his position and not be driven back by past and present fears.  As the Captain looked down to toward the bridge, he saw five dark shapes flying toward them from the west.  The eyes of the horses glowed an angry red and there were glimpses of fell light like smoldering sparks under the hoods of the riders.  

Thalguron and Tardorn were issuing quiet orders to the Rangers around them, forming them into a defensive perimeter.  They were set too far back off of the road to be able to move to intercept the riders in time.  The best they could hope for was to strike with bows as the wraiths passed by below them.  The Rangers all readied their weapons and as the horses swept across the bridge and down before them, Thalguron gave the command to loose.  A dozen arrows flew and quickly behind them a dozen more.  It seemed as if several found their marks but the dark company took no more notice of the arrows flying around them than they would gnats on a summer’s evening.  The riders did not slow down or even break stride.  They continued their charge on eastward and were quickly out of sight and the sounds of the horses hooves faded away into the blackness.

Tardorn was moving quickly around the camp checking each of the men.  He turned and sought out Thalguron when he had completed the circuit of the perimeter.  “All are unharmed though most are shaken.  Fear surrounds those monsters like a hair on a wolf.  I can see now why Fargand was so shaken after his first encounter.  It seems that he has actually gained strength from that experience and did not falter.”

“He is a solid young man despite his tendency to mischief.  I knew he would stand” Thalguron replied.  “I want to set the men closer to the road and put a contingent on the other side as well.  I don’t really expect the riders to return but I want to be prepared if they do.  It is only a short time to daybreak and I doubt any could sleep now anyway.  I can feel the fear still with me from the wraiths as well.”

Tardorn nodded and turned away to carry out his orders.  The men slipped into the darkness to take up their assigned stations and soon the night was still once again.  There were no more alarms and soon the sun began to peek over the mountains visible off to the east.

Thalguron called Tardorn back to where he was rekindling the fire.  “I am going to take seven of the men and move on eastward.  I will leave you here with the remainder to watch the bridge.  If Aragorn is still to our west, we will be between him and danger.  If not, I want to move quickly to him and offer whatever help we can.  If he comes to you, bring them on to us.  Should we find them, we will go on to Rivendell and send a messenger back to you.  I only pray that Lord Glorfindel has been able to find them already and has them safely beyond the Bruinen.  I do not believe that the wraiths can enter Rivendell.  The power of Elrond over the valley is too strong for any save Sauron himself to break, and even he could not do so easily.”

“I pray that they are already safe, as well.  I am not sure that we can do more than slow down the fallen kings in their pursuit.  I will pass the word and have the men get ready to move out.  We will hold the bridge.  You keep your wits about you as you go.  I don’t wish to face Meri and explain how you were lost and I was not there by your side.”

“Aye, that I will.  I would not place such an onerous burden on you, my friend,” Thalguron murmured with a rueful grin, placing his hand on the shoulder of his lieutenant.  He moved away to gather his pack and prepare to lead his men out.  They formed two ranks of four split on both sides of the road and Thalguron set them out in the swift gait of the Rangers.  Quickly the bridge and the remaining guards were left behind in the distance. 


End file.
